


Valenfield

by TheLadyFrost



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gratuitous Smut, PWP without Porn, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Valenfield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 05:50:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17843636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyFrost/pseuds/TheLadyFrost
Summary: When you're cleaning out your folders of stuff that has no purpose in a story you'll never finish. So you just PWOP it and throw it up there.Smut for the sake of smut. It’s more like..tasteful lovemaking. Because I fail at filthy smut apparently. *sigh*





	Valenfield

** Valenfield **

* * *

**Raccoon City - 1996**

* * *

The cheer of the crowd was loud around them.

A greasy haired guy on a stool shouted, above the din, "YOU JUST BEAT REDFIELD AT DARTS! Did anyone else see that shit!?"

The tall skinny guy in the bandana at the back of the pool table shouted back, "Everyone saw it Speyer. Seriously. We're all in the same damn room."

There was a huge red haired mountain of a man leaning on the bar beside the greasy haired guy, "You drunk, Red?"

And, of course, there was  _him._ The guy who's ass she'd just stomped at darts. What did they call him?

Redfield.

Jill Valentine leaped up on the stool beside him, swinging her legs beneath her mini skirt. He kept his arm propped along the dingy mahogany, watching her face. She studied his where it half smiled over the lip of his beer.

Nice face, she mused, not exactly classically handsome. What was the word she wanted here?

Rugged.

Big ears, lots of dark hair, heavy brow and jaw. A nice face. You'd never bore looking at it.

She was all big eyes and pouty lips. The short cap of her hair set off high cheekbones and ice blue eyes. She'd rimmed them in kohl liner and left her mouth bare of lipstick. She didn't need it. She was all tits and tiny belly in that tube top she wasn't really wearing anyway.

Jill studied his face in the smoky bar, "You lost, big guy. You gonna pay the piper?"

He'd lost on purpose. But there was no need to tell her that. Hell, the second she'd walked into that bar flanked by her amazonian girlfriends, he'd known he'd lose on purpose at it. It was a ploy to get her to talk to him. The challenge, the flirting, the laughter - all staged to make her stop talking to long-haired biker types and start talking to him.

Chris shrugged a shoulder at her, looking flippant. "Why not? What was it?"

"Twenty, haircut. Twenty large."

He smirked, glancing at her mouth where she sat. She arched a brow, "Looking at my teeth?"

Amused, he shrugged again, "They're nice teeth. You object to my haircut?"

"It's awful. Horrible. Floppy and stupid. Looks like you put a bowl on your head and used too much gel." She tilted her head at him, "I kinda like it actually. Works with the stubble. My twenty?"

He gestured with his head and she leaped down to follow him into the cool air. He had a beat up old Trans Am parked at the curb. It was black with gray primered doors. It was on its last legs, clearly, but she found it charming that he was still cruising around in it.

He offered her the twenty dollar bill crumpled up in the cup holder inside the cab of the car.

Jill poked it happily between her breasts into her cleavage. His brows shot up. Hers echoed it.

He said, tongue in cheek, "Is that a deterrent to thieves?"

She tilted her head at him, "I'm the thief, big guy, didn't you hear?"

"Hmm. That wouldn't stop anyone from going after it, just saying."

Jill considered him in the cold air. Their breath fogged. She answered, curious, "I'd lay anyone who tried out flat, I promise you. Not just a pretty face, Redfield. You know anybody with the guts to take that chance?"

He didn't answer.

Not exactly.

But he did open the passenger door of that old Trans Am...and he kept one eyebrow lifted in a challenge - daring her to say no.

She climbed into the dark interior, laughing.

* * *

He took her to the park. Made sense, she mused, as they both had roommates and not a dime between them so both of their places was off limits.

After a moment of indecision, she picked the lock on the clocktower and let them into the musty dark.

She shrugged a shoulder when he lifted a brow at her, impressed. "Master of unlocking."

"No shit."

It was dark and warm inside. It was covered in sheets and had old furniture layered in dust. Apparently, no one set foot in there much anymore. They eased into a long corridor and found themselves facing some kind of alter.

Had it been a church or something once? There were stained glass windows showing silvery moonlight high above them.

Jill started to ask if he knew and he caught her around the waist.

She let him heft her up. He put her over the alter and stepped between her legs. She liked it.

He was ruthlessly fast.

She jerked at his sweater over the back of his neck and divested him of it. Nice chest, excellent conditioning - and just enough body hair to remind her he wasn't some slick torsoed baby beneath the heavy wool.

Jill played at his nipples and he brought her face up. A good kiss, hungry. They meshed well together, both angling their heads with no awkward noses bumping or chins hitting.

The tube top came down. The twenty went somewhere and no one cared. Hard to care in the middle of a wild ride.

He hiked up her skirt. Her booted legs fell open to let him. He took her panties. He dropped like a hungry thing between her legs.

And that? That was good. That was really good.

Jill humped against his face, gasping. She came so wetly against his that it almost hurt. She jerked and flopped, a landed fish.

What did they call this guy? Mr. Perfect or something. He never missed his target.

They should call him Mr. Pussy, Jill mused, because he was aces at it.

He hit her target alright and made her glad she'd won at darts.

Shuddering, she watched him rise up. He slid against her. He pushed her shirt up higher and put his mouth to her tits. It was good there too. He used so much teeth that it was nothing but exciting.

That kind of rowdy foreplay always got her going.

She jerked at his pants. He fumbled out his wallet and she was a good enough girl to glove him up for the finale.

The angle was perfect because he slid right into her. And she was good and slick from his tongue. He went in, hard, hit the end of her and slapped there. It hurt.

And it felt good.

But he knew that too.

This wasn't their first trip to the rodeo.

He pushed her knees back and fucked into her body three times, hard. It brought her scrambling hands up to grip handfuls of his chest and make him grunt.

"...fuck." She grunted it as well. And he laughed.

"Yeah. We're doing that." He pistoned into her while she squeaked, scrambling and bucking against him. That was good. Of course, it was good.

She grabbed his ass in her hands to jerk him into her.

When the altar was in their way, he looped his arm around her waist and took her to the cold floor.

Fast. It was all brutally fast.

She wore her tube top and her skirt around her waist like a belt or something. His pants were still clinging to him. It was crude. It was kinda great.

He shifted. Her legs spilled down his flanks and he dropped into a push-up position. The rhythm went slick, smoother. He cruised instead of bruised. Her thighs opened to let him in further.

It was good.

Their bodies slid together wetly. She shifted, throbbing, and tried to kiss him.

He caught her face to hold her for his tongue.

Turns out? They were kinda perfect at fucking each other.

They were even better at working together.

Putting aside their one night stand, they made outstanding partners. They were affectionately called Valenfield because you often didn't find one without the other.

There was no awkward after sex weirdness. They simply slid into being friends and coworkers and partners without residual tension.

Jill was smart and determined and driven.

Chris was passionate and purposeful and uncompromising.

They owned the R.P.D. with their shameless pursuit of justice and dedication.

But all the dedication in the universe didn't stop the betrayal. Their boss, their North Star, their guiding hand - the architect of their misfortune. He turned on them and turned them toward the fight that would consume them.

The start of a partnership that would build a legacy...and a quest for redemption that would spawn a new hope for a world dying under the blanket of bioterror.

Valenfield - a name synonymous with victory. Where one went, the other followed. Where one struggled, the other fought. Where one fell, the other stood strong.

The name meant team. And after that one night together? It meant friendship. To the bad guys? It meant death to any who came against them.

And a tenacity that would chase a man in glasses across the world until he was finally finished.


End file.
